


To Do List

by Black_Betty



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Masturbation, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 02:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Betty/pseuds/Black_Betty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, Charles and Erik have become one of those couples who rarely see each other because of their busy schedules. They're SO busy, they haven't had sex in weeks. Erik has had enough, and forms a coordinated plan of attack. Charles is less than helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Do List

**Author's Note:**

> This contains one of the weirdest sex scenes I've ever written. 
> 
> In fact, this is one of the weirdest things I've ever written, period. 
> 
> ...Enjoy!

In blue half-light of early morning, Charles looks angelic. He’s curled on his side with one pale arm tucked under his pillow, his eyelashes resting in a dark sweep across his cheeks, his mouth parted as he slowly breathes, deep in sleep.

Erik wants to do dirty, perverse things to him.

After a moment he pushes in close and presses a lingering kiss against Charles’ throat, trails his mouth slowly under his jaw and over to the spot beneath his ear that normally drives him crazy. He grazes his teeth there, gently, and whispers softly in Charles’ ear:  _wake up darling._

Charles remains emphatically asleep.

After a while Erik gives up and goes to jerk off in the shower. It’s not an ideal start to his day, especially when he realizes that he can’t remember the last time he got laid. It’s possible that this is a normal thing for people in committed relationships with full time jobs, but Erik is accustomed to a consistent level of sex in his day-to-day and recently that quota has not been filled.

The lack of sex is not entirely linked to Charles’ inability to get up at a decent hour of the morning. At lunchtime, Charles shows up at the office with a picnic of sandwiches and a smuggled bottle of wine. He leers at Erik suggestively from over his desk and Erik is forced to tell him about the meeting he has in ten minutes and kiss him apologetically before running out the door.

One meeting leads to another and another and by the time Erik is done he’s eager to get home and spend some quality time with his husband, but the house is cold and dark when he arrives. Looking at the calendar in the empty kitchen, he realizes he forgot about Charles’ evening class. Resolute in his quest, he turns the lights on and drinks some coffee, sets out lube and condoms on the coffee table, determined to be ready for Charles by the time he gets home.

When he wakes up later on the couch, someone has covered him in a blanket and turned off the TV, and there is a sticky note next to the condoms with a large unhappy face drawn on it. Erik drags himself up and hurries to the bedroom, but Charles is already asleep and the clock reads 3:47. Too late, or rather, too early to wake him, even though Erik’s body aches and his cock is pressing against the fly of his wrinkled trousers.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes.

Shit.

~~~

The next day Charles texts him while he’s running.

_I’m so hard where are you?_

He trips and stumbles and nearly collides with two teenage girls riding a tandem bicycle. Apologizing hastily he scrambles out of the way and checks his phone again.

There’s another text:

_I’m touching myself Erik_

Frantically, Erik looks around. He’s about halfway through his run, which means he’s about an hour away from the apartment.

He smashes,  _DONTFINSIH WITHOUT ME_  into his phone as he races off. He makes it home in forty-five minutes, a personal best, but when he gets there Charles is exiting the bedroom, washed and dressed for work.

He smiles apologetically and presses a swift kiss against the corner of Erik’s gasping mouth.

“Sorry love, I have a class in an hour. I couldn’t wait.”

And then he’s flying out the door in a blur of tweed.

Erik collapses onto the floor and tries to keep his heart from exploding in his chest before dragging his shaking body toward the shower, disappointed and exhausted.

~~~

Erik is a lawyer by trade and well versed in the subtle art of contract negotiation. Over the course of his career he’s made deals with billionaire CEOs, the district attorney of New York City and countless other powerful, stubborn and hugely influential people.

In comparison, arranging a time to have sex with his husband should be a breeze.

It is not.

The email he sends Charles requesting his class schedule so that he might hammer out a tentative agenda is met with a dry,

_I know you think excel spreadsheets are sexy, Erik, but this isn’t very romantic._

_You know what else isn’t romantic?_  He texts to Charles in between meetings,  _My cock withering away from lack of use._

_Well we don’t want that_ , Charles responds,  _I am especially fond of your cock_.

Later, after Erik has sent him a number of photographs to further demonstrate his point, Charles sends him an email with his timetable attached and the note,

_Alright, send me the damn spreadsheet when it’s done._

_And for god’s sake stop sending me pictures of your cock! Moira just asked if I was watching the trailer for Sharktopus 2._

After he emails Charles the updated agenda, an inevitable crisis emerges at work and Erik doesn’t get home until late. Charles is asleep when he collapses into bed next to him, and is still sleeping when Erik wakes the next morning.

While he rubs at his eyes while the cobwebs clear from his sleep addled brain, a little thrill runs through him as he remembers that he scheduled morning sex into the empty block of time before they both have to go to work. He rolls over to wake Charles, and spots a gigantic pink post-it note over the alarm clock on Charles’ side of the bed that reads:

**DO NOT WAKE ME UNDER PAIN OF DEATH.**

There is a skull and crossbones drawn underneath and Erik would think it was cute if he wasn’t so frustratingly horny. He grabs his phone and checks his email and finds a response from Charles that he missed in the insanity of the day before. It says,

_Hard limit: MORNING SEX._

_I’m sorry Erik, but I just can’t do it. You knew this when you married me._

Erik sighs and rolls out of bed, casting one last mournful glance at Charles’ sleeping form, pale and rumpled, mouth open against the pillow.

On his way to work, Erik looks over the amendments Charles made to the spreadsheet.

Under the heading AGENDA Charles had typed:

**_SUGGESTIONS FOR HEADING CHANGE:_ **

  * _Coitus Calendar?_
  * _Making Love out of…an efficiently calibrated spreadsheet?_
  * _Wham Bam Thank You M—-icrosoft Excel?_



From 2-4, the time when Erik is most often in meetings or in court, there was the notation:

  * _POTENTIAL AFTERNOON DELIGHT? (!!!!???)_



Where Erik had scheduled time for intimacy after dinner he wrote,

_Sex post food? Concern vis a vis heartburn…what about sex DURING dinner? Work off those calories! *****_

And then:

> _***** consider: food that can be eaten while engaging in sexual intercourse: liquids, mashed potatoes ****** , sliced meat?_
> 
> _****** consider: are mashed potatoes sexy?  _

Erik smothers his smile with one hand. He suspects Charles isn’t taking this seriously, though to be fair their lives seem to have spiraled out of control and into the realm of the ridiculous.

His mirth fades, however, as he looks over his calendar aligned with Charles’. Between his long hours at the office and Charles’ sporadic teaching schedule, there is literally no free time during the week. And with the weekend being reserved for Charles’ marking, and repairs and errands and recovery from the hectic workweek, Erik sees his sex life diminishing before his eyes.

He pockets his phone in an abrupt movement, aggravated and discouraged. It shouldn’t be this hard, he thinks. When did sex get relegated to the bottom of his list of priorities? When did he and Charles become one of those married couples who see each other in passing, who live together more as roommates then as spouses?

He’s in a foul temper for the rest of the day. The associates, sensing his mood, are smart enough to stay out of his way, but the opposing counsel in Erik’s afternoon trial is not so lucky.  He eviscerates them all the while picking and prodding mentally at his calendar, trying to determine if something can be cut or moved, but everything remains frustratingly important and necessary.

He’s exhausted and furious and a bit heartsick by the time he gets home. The house is quiet and dark and disappointment clings to him as he remembers that that Charles teaches on Wednesday evenings. He tosses his briefcase onto the couch and heads to the bedroom, tugging angrily at his tie along the way.

He’s nearly got it undone when he pushes the bedroom door open with his powers and a number of things register simultaneously. First is that the lamp on the bedside table is on, painting the bedroom in warm light that illuminates a person sitting on the bed. Before Erik can impale the intruder with metal he realizes that it’s someone achingly familiar, just as Charles’ mind reaches out to soothe his rattled nerves.

Second is that Charles is naked and sitting in the centre of their bed, the large bowl in his lap the only thing preserving his modesty.  

Charles grins at him and lifts a spoon from the bowl to his mouth. He sucks on it slowly, tongue running over the smooth metal in a painfully sensual caress that Erik can feel from his head to his toes. He shudders, and Charles smiles around the spoon before pulling it from his mouth with a wet pop.

“I thought we’d test the potential sexual appeal of mashed potatoes,” he says, grinning at Erik. Erik is vaguely aware of the fluffy white lumps of potato in the bowl, and that this is the most ridiculous thing Charles has attempted in bed, and that yes, mashed potatoes are somehow sexy when Charles Xavier is slowly licking them off a spoon.

But more than any of that, he is aware of Charles, here in their bedroom in nothing more than his lovely pale skin. His hair is a mess and he’s flushed and a bit rumpled as though he might have been lying down until he felt Erik approach the building, lazy and relaxed and content. He’s  _here_.

Suddenly Erik can’t get his clothes off fast enough.

He’s on the bed, pants undone, shirt half-buttoned, gripping Charles by the face and kissing him in record time.

“I thought you had class,” he pants against Charles’ lips before kissing him again, moaning at the feeling of Charles’ tongue as it slides into his mouth. Charles’s hands are pulling Erik’s shirt out of his pants and fumbling with the remaining buttons.

“I cancelled—told them it was an emergency.” He gasps as Erik slides his hands into his hair and grips him tight, draws his head back gently to place a sucking kiss onto the skin of his throat. Charles writhes against him and Erik attempts to press him down against the sheets, but is stymied by the ridiculous bowl of potatoes.

He scrambles to get it out of the way, nearly dumping the contents all over the bed, and soon enough he’s sliding back over Charles’ body, Charles who bites his lip and thrusts up against him, wrapping one deceptively long leg around his waist.

“Emergency?” Erik murmurs, leaning down to lick at one of Charles’ nipples, wet and rough and with enough force to make him cry out. “Professor Xavier, did you  _lie_  to your students?”

“Certainly not,” Charles says, reaching a hand down into the open fly of Erik’s trousers and cupping him through his briefs. “I believe this constitutes as an emergency.”

Erik is so distracted by the way Charles squeezes him with just the right amount of pressure to make his eyes roll back in his head that he’s caught off guard when Charles uses the leverage of their entangled bodies to flip Erik over onto his back. He’s tugging Erik’s trousers off before Erik is able to orient himself, grappling with Erik’s socks before dumping everything over the side of the bed.

He leans close and breathes hotly over Erik’s cock.

“I’m very concerned about certain body parts atrophying from disuse,” Charles says in his best academic tone of voice. It’s contrasted with the way his naked body stretches out across the bed, rolling slightly as Charles’ cock makes contact with the sheets and he rubs himself there for a moment. Erik is unable to stop a choked whine from escaping as Charles eases his cock out of his briefs and licks delicately at the tip.

“Are you going to do something about it, Professor?”

Charles smiles wickedly and licks a long stripe up the underside of Erik’s cock. He’s blindingly hard already, all the weeks of pent up sexual tension suddenly flowing through him like a floodgate has been opened. He forces his head up, desperate to watch Charles as he licks him again and then opens his mouth over the head of Erik’s cock, hot and wet, tongue massaging him as Charles swallows more and more.

Erik is distantly aware that he’s making embarrassing sounds but he can’t help himself, nearly out of his mind with the feel of Charles’ gorgeous mouth on him. His feet thrash against mattress, his fingers are twisted so tightly in the sheets that his knuckles hurt, but Charles is unrelenting.

“Charles,” he gasps, “Charles wait—“ Charles pulls off of him and his eyes are glassy and dazed, pupils huge and dark as he looks up at him, and slowly licks his lips. Erik nearly gives himself a hernia trying to prevent himself from coming too soon and when he pulls himself back from the edge he gasps,

“I want to come inside you, please.”

Charles’ face lights up and he eagerly scrambles up Erik’s body, straddling his waist. He’s flushed and hard and breathing heavily as he grinds his ass back against Erik’s cock.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Erik grasps his hips tightly, and when he slides his hands around to cup the flesh of Charles ass, his fingers brush his hole and come away wet. When he gapes up at Charles, a half-formed question bubbling up in his mind, Charles grins wickedly.

“I might have been counting on you saying that.”

Erik flips him over onto his back and throws one of his legs over his shoulder, probing with his fingers at where Charles has prepped himself. He’s dripping wet there, and loose, but Erik stretches him for a little while longer just to see him squirm against the sheets. When Charles looks as desperate as Erik feels, he asks,

“Ready?”

Charles reaches for him, hands gripping onto his open shirt and hauling him closer,

“Please Erik,” he begs, “please, I want you.” Erik has never heard him sound more wanton or anxious; it’s as though the weeks of neglect and involuntary chastity are spilling over them both in a great swell and Erik is overcome by a desire to give Charles everything.

He pushes into him slowly, and rests on his elbows by Charles’ head, waits for him to adjust, presses gentle kisses across his mouth as his fingers card slowly through his hair. When Charles begins to kiss back with more fervor, his legs tightening around Erik’s body, Erik begins to thrust, gingerly at first and then progressively harder and harder as Charles spurs him on.

The sound and movement of the bed is obscene. Erik presses his face into the angle of Charles’ throat where the sharp edge of his jaw connects and continues to push into Charles with powerful, short thrusts that makes Charles gasp over and over again, the sound of it nearly driving Erik over the edge. Charles’ hands come up to brace himself against the headboard and Erik spools out his power to attach him there with molded iron and steel. He’s aware as he touches his mutation that the phone is floating next to the bed, that the wire hangers in the closet are melting and dropping their clothes on the floor. Distantly, over the sound of the bed thumping against the wall, he can hear the dresser drawers are rattling, and he’d be worried about the neighbours except that he doesn’t care about anything but the tight clench of Charles’ body and the steady thrum of his pulse beneath Erik’s mouth, the way his hands cling to him like they are branding fingerprints into his skin.

When Charles comes, it’s with an undeniable power surge of pleasure that rockets through Erik from head to toe. He lets go and follows Charles down, hips stuttering, mouth biting down against Charles’ shoulder to smother his shout, bursts of starlight blurring his vision.

They cling to each other for a long time, and when Erik finally draws away from Charles he looks around to see the room in chaos, a shower of metal objects scattered across the carpet. The bed frame is still clinging to Charles’ wrists and he carefully unwinds it, brings Charles’ wrists down to rub at the faint red marks left there and presses a kiss into the center of his palm.

“Well,” Charles says, still breathing hard, his fingers clumsily moving to intertwine with Erik’s, “now we know what it takes to make you lose control over your mutation.” Charles is covered in sweat and come, his chest and cheeks flushed red, and Erik feels indescribably proud to see him so undone. His hair is clinging to his face and Erik takes a moment to push it back and smile at him, impossibly fond.

“Good luck publishing that research in a scholarly journal.”

Charles laughs and shakes his head.

“No thank you—I’d rather not have my colleagues peer-reviewing my husband’s sex drive.”

Erik sighs and rolls off of him, keeping their fingers linked.

“I appreciate you making time for this, but you can’t cancel class every time we want to fuck.” A tiny flare of familiar frustration slices through his afterglow. “It’s ridiculous that we have to schedule sex at all.”

Charles sighs and untangles his hand from Erik’s before gingerly getting out of bed. Erik makes sure to project a sense of smug satisfaction at the way Charles walks stiffly to the bathroom so that Charles will roll his eyes at him over his shoulder.

He returns with a damp cloth and uses it to gently wipe the lingering sweat and lube from Erik’s body. He’s already cleaned himself off and when gets back into bed and presses himself along Erik’s side, his skin is cool and soft.

As they relax, Erik drifting along with Charles’ radiating sense of content satiation, his muscles relaxing one by one, Charles says quietly,

“I’m going to trade timeslots with Moira as soon as the semester is finished. That way I can have Wednesday and Friday nights free.”

Erik feels a rush of affection wash over him.

“Thank you,” he says and Charles laughs.

“Don’t thank me yet—Moira teaches at 8 am. You’re the one who’s going to have to deal with me in the morning.”

Erik rolls over so that they’re looking at one another face to face.

“I think I can handle it.” He leans forward to catch Charles’ mouth in a kiss, “And I appreciate your sacrifice.”

Charles smiles and Erik has to kiss him again. They trade lazy caresses for a while until Erik leans back just far enough to say,

“In the spirit of fair trade, I think I can clear some time in my schedule to make room for potential ‘afternoon delight’.”

Charles sits up excitedly, his elbows landing painfully on Erik’s chest as he props himself up to loom over him.

“Really?” he asks, pleased and delighted. He looks so lovely even with his hair sticking up awkwardly in the back that Erik’s busy schedule and seemingly important reasons he had for not spending time with him are suddenly rendered utterly ridiculous and unimportant.

“My motto’s always been: when it’s right it’s right, why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?”

He sings monotonously until Charles kisses him to make him stop.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The song at the end is, of course, "Afternoon Delight" by Starland Vocal Band.
> 
> This was originally posted on tumblr thanks to a prompt by nextraordinaire--thanks again!
> 
> (sometimes i write things on tumblr.)
> 
> (you should come visit me on tumblr.)
> 
> (black--betty.tumblr.com)
> 
> (just saying)


End file.
